


Candy Striper

by APendingThought



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Common Cold, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Dress Up, Fever, M/M, Medical Examination, Medical Kink, Nurse!Victor, Playing Doctor, Sexual Content, Sick Character, Sickfic, Sneezing, sick!yuuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2018-12-12 05:56:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11730888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/APendingThought/pseuds/APendingThought
Summary: Yuuri catches an awful cold.  He is miserable and stuck in bed. His devoted, flirtatious boyfriend decides to take advantage of his misfortune to play dress up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic wrote itself.
> 
> Viktor has such a playful, flamboyant, extreme side to him and pink goes so well with his skin tone.  
> Poor Yuuri. Poor, poor Yuuri.
> 
> Yuri on Ice is so very cute, how could I possibly resist? Well, I guess I could have. But I didn't want to.

“Heeechk!”

Yuuri sniffed, mushing his nose into the crook of his bare elbow. Practice had been exceedingly difficult with a head filled with cement and the wide expanse of ice beneath him fading in and out of his wavery vision. He felt his cheeks burn even hotter when he glimpsed Victor seated in the sidelines, observing his performance in his usual aloof manner--one elegant hand perched under a snow white cheek. Yuuri had always felt more at ease when Victor the world class ice champion appraised him from a safe distance. He didn't need to see him falter, didn't need to quantify every miscalculated jump or botched landing. Unlike most days, Yuuri just wanted to hide--even from Victor.

Shuddering at the feel of chilled sweat running down his overly warm neck, Yuuri set his skates into the ice and tried again to focus. He had the sequence of steps mostly memorized, making them materialize on live ice in front of his mentor was his challenge at the moment.

To be more precise, standing and skating in a straight line was his most pressing challenge. This, he knew, would never go unnoticed even if he pushed himself beyond his own expectations. If the man who was his coach let him slide on a shoddy performance and rundown health, the man who was now his lover (the word still made him gag) would not.

At once the music stopped.Yuuri skidded to a halt, mid step. Yuuri froze, turning expectantly to Victor, awaiting feedback.

“Yuuri, come here.” Victor’s tone was serious. He did not look pleased, more unsettled.

Yuuri obeyed, swiping at his damp brow with a gloved hand. He could feel his breath hitching in his chest, on the verge of another sneeze.

“Yes Vict—AAAGH-CHO!” Before his nasal passages could explode, he quickly pinched them shut, eyes squeezing hard at the resulting painful pressure. Shakily, Yuuri glided into Victor’s waiting arms letting his tired, overheated body sag there. Victor’s arms were hard and strong as iron bars keeping him upright. Yuuri blinked up at his coach, wanting to hide from the steel blue gaze studying him. It was hard in these moments for Yuuri to tell where his coach ended and his boyfriend began but with a head full of pressure and every limb throbbing, such distinctions became less important. Victor's low voice settled over him like a warm blanket and he welcomed it.

"Again?" Yuuri asked, trying to hide the exhaustion in his voice.

“ A new program, this intense music. Normally you would be showing off for me. What is wrong?”

Yuuri sniffed, rubbing scornfully at his red nose. “S-sorry Vitya. I'm not at my best today.”

Victor hummed in agreement. "Clearly." 

Yuuri didn't have a moment to sulk on this assessment when he felt soft lips pressed against his sweaty forehead. Yuuri could do nothing but sink into himself miserably, eyes closing in shame.

“You’re burning up.” Victor kept his register low but Yuuri could still detect a faint rise of concern. Partly so Yuuri could hear, partly so others could not. Skaters were gossipy little devils. Victor's silver eyebrows were lifted.

Yuuri grimaced, knowing that Victor was right. That didn’t stop him from protesting. “I know how important this new routine is for my American debut--”

“Come, lapochka.” Victor jostled him playfully in his grip. “Time for regretting is over, time for going home is now.”

Yuuri had to stop himself from weeping in agreement.

Upon arrival to their shared St. Petersburg flat, Victor placed himself solely in charge. He all but carried Yuuri to their bedroom, the younger leaning on him for support. Calmly, Victor began stripping him layer by layer from the sweater, scarf, black practice T-shirt and pants when Yuuri seemed too dazed, tired or passive to begin the process himself. Yuuri’s chills increased once the air hit his bare skin and he wrapped his arms around his lithe frame, shuddering.

“S-so cold!.” He hissed. It wasn't long before his breath hitched and another explosive sneeze erupted from his chest. This time, the sneeze was followed by a fit of rough coughing.

“Poor Yuuri.” Victor crooned, his voice deep and consoling. Makkachin, alerted and confused by her master’s oddly-timed arrival, trotted in to inspect proceedings. She whined, placing her head beside Yuuri’s knees. Absently, he stroked her head, accepting the gentle swipe of her tongue on his palm. With Yuuri now sitting bare chested in only his boxers, Victor went about finding him suitable sleepwear from the armoire. Smiling warmly, if only to reassure his sick boyfriend, he deposited the neatly folded powder blue pajamas in his lap. Yuuri blinked down at them weakly as though unsure what to do with them. He was fighting to stay awake.

“I think we both could use a change of pace tonight, don’t you agree?”

Yuuri could do nothing but nod dumbly, blearily pulling the flannel pajama top over his head. The fabric was warm and soft. It felt so good against his damp, feverish skin. Cool fingers rested against his forehead again and he leaned into their touch. 

“You’re on fire, Yuuri.” He hissed.

“Mmn.” Yuuri agreed, feeling his face flush even deeper. A gentle but firm hand eased him back against the mattress. A few moments later, something blessedly cool was pressed against his neck and throat before coming to rest against his temples. Yuuri sighed, grateful for the momentary relief.

“Rest. I’ll be in shortly to check on you.” Victor's voice sounded so far away.

Too weak and dizzy to protest, Yuuri obeyed, resting his flushed cheek against the cool pillow. He was barely awake to feel careful hands removing his glasses and setting them gently aside on the night table next to his head. A routine, something his body knew to do instinctively before bed, he was not even able to accomplish. His last thought was regretful. _I can't even get sick correctly..._  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Three gentle knocks stirred him to wakefulness, the dimness of the room shifted from pitch black to blurred shadow. Yuuri blinked weakly, eyes adjusting to the light. All he could see before him was a pale pink and white shape. He frowned, confused, groping weakly for his glasses. 

“Mmn? V-Vitya?” He murmured. Sliding the glasses on, he squinted to make sure he was seeing correctly. How long had he slept? 

Yuuri could hardly blame himself for believing his first impression to be a fever dream.

Victor stood in the door frame. Yuuri did a double take. Was that person standing poised there really Victor? The tall, statuesque man with the tray in his arms must be Victor but--  
Flirtation personified was all he could make out in his delirious haze. The pink-striped pinafore was short enough to show off ample thigh, the fit of the white dress tight and fitted about his waist and chest. Yuuri balked as Victor sauntered into the room, catching a flash of lace garter beneath the skirt as he moved towards the bed, tray in hand. 

Yuuri gulped. 

Victor’s pale hair was slicked neatly and pinned back, a pink medical cap perched on top of his head. Around his neck dangled a pink stethoscope and Yuuri had to wonder where in hell he managed to find one in a complimenting shade.

“I’ve been dying for an excuse to wear this.” Victor hummed, setting his tray down on the night table. The tray, Yuuri noticed, held nothing but a glass of water and a small paper cup of medicine. 

“What do you think?”

Yuuri’s feverish head buzzed.

“Guh—“ Was all he could articulate. Wisely, Victor opted to move on to more concrete questions.

“How are we feeling?” 

Yuuri could barely even breathe, let alone assess himself. His fever-hazed mind swirled. When his breathing finally did kick in, it stuttered into a fit of coughing. Victor frowned, seating himself delicately on the bed beside Yuuri, his feminine mannerisms emerging naturally, as befitting the seasoned dancer he was. Only now to Yuuri’s shaky vision he looked like the real thing. Victor clicked his tongue in concern. 

“That doesn’t sound good at all.” He admonished lightly. “I think you could use a once over from your nurse.”

Yuuri choked. “M-my what? Vitya, no, that’s really—“

Victor ignored him, producing a glass thermometer from the breast pocket of his apron. Unceremoniously, he shoved it between Yuuri’s protesting lips, effectively silencing him. 

“Don’t argue with your nurse now. She knows best.” Victor beamed. "Don't I always know what is best for you, Yurochka?"

Yuuri would have groaned in frustration if it weren’t for the clinical obtrusion clenched between his teeth. While he fumed, Victor adjusted the frilled garter around his thigh, tugging it up neatly beneath his skirt. Yuuri tried to focus on anything else but the expanse of stretched pink cotton pulled taught over his boyfriend’s chest had him in rapt attention. 

Victor sighed in dismay as he examined the readout, holding it up to the light. Yuuri's shoulders slumped, he was interested in the number. He knew it was high, it had to be with how bad he felt. But he didn't voice his concern, even as Victor shook the thermometer down from its red hot height.

“That’s quite a temperature.” He tucked the thermometer back into his pocket. “We’ll have to work on that. What else is bothering you?”

“N-nothing!” Yuuri protested weakly. “I’m fine, Victor! Really, it’s just a cold!”

Victor’s sharp blue gaze turned steely, making Yuuri’s breath stop and stutter.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, lapochka.”

“Well, um...” Yuuri fidgeted with the hem of his blanket. “M-my throat kind of hurts?”

Victor whipped out a small wooden tongue depressor from his apron pocket and a tiny flash light.

“Open.”

Yuuri dared not disobey. With a click, the flashlight ignited, his tongue held down by the hard flat press of the stick .

“Now say ahhhh.”

“Ahhhhh…” Yuuri gagged at the harsh touch of the depressor scraping against his throat.

“Hmm.” Victor peered closely. “You’re all red and swollen.” He withdrew, clicking off the light. Breaking the used tongue depressor in half, he tossed it into the wastebasket. Yuuri felt himself deflate gratefully, his throat itching even more from the uncomfortable exam. Just then , he felt another cough seizing his chest. Quickly, he tried to suppress it in his elbow.

Victor’s pale brows knitted together.

“I don’t like the sound of that cough.” Unwinding the stethoscope from around his neck, he placed the buds in his ears. “Time to check your breathing.” Before Yuuri could even roll his eyes in frustration, he found himself pushed forcefully against the headboard. 

Yuuri protested feebly. "Vitya, please! There's nothing wrong with my heart!"

“Lift,” was all Victor said.

Yuuri knew that was not a request.

Runching up his pajama top to his chin, he bared his chest for Victor with an agitated sigh. He flinched sharply at the chilled bell of the stethoscope against his overheated skin. 

"Vitya, it's cold!" He tried protesting again, flinching as Victor shifted the bell.

"Shh!"

Uncomfortably aware of the thudding of his heart against his rib cage and waiting in tense silence, Yuuri felt a fierce blush rise to his cheeks. Surely Victor could hear how hard and fast it was beating. Surely he could tell how stressed he was.  


“Inhale.” Victor ordered in a clipped tone. Yuuri did his best comply but his nerve failed him, his exhale shaky and uneven. Victor frowned in disapproval. “Yuuri, relax. I can barely hear your breathing over your heartbeat.”

Yuuri closed his eyes and tried to focus, tried to forget where he was at that very moment, tried to forget the feel of Victor’s cool fingers against his chest. Every effort focused on intake and release of his breath. Once he could settle his breathing, his heartbeat would gradually ease its frantic pace. 

“You’re nervous, lapochka?” Victor hummed, meeting Yuuri’s gaze.

“W-What d-did you expect?” Yuuri whined.

Victor shifted the bell between his shoulder blades, sliding it up and down his back. A troubled look passed over his face as he listened to each measured exhale, the crease in his forehead deepening. Yuuri gulped, heart rate galloping again.

“Oh dear…” Victor murmured.

“What?” Yuuri squeaked. “What is it?”

“My pinafore doesn’t match my shoes.” Victor sighed dejectedly, plucking the stethoscope from his ears. "I look like a sham!" Yuuri collapsed in on himself in frustration.

“Vityaaaa!” He panted. “Please! Is my breathing okay???”

“Wha-? Oh yes, it’s fine.” Victor smirked. Yuuri all but melted in relief, his reaction only amusing Victor more. 

“Here, these tablets should bring down your temperature and relieve the soreness.”

Victor handed Yuuri the small paper cup containing two pills. He watched as Yuuri swallowed them, downing the entire glass of water. Yuuri felt his nose twitch when he was done, breath hitching again. This time, Victor was quick to hold out the tissue box and Yuuri snatched one just in time for the sneeze to explode from him.

“Kyaa-chuh!” He gasped. “Owww…” Yuuri collapsed back against the pillow, disgusted by how awful he sounded and felt. He felt Victor’s hand reach out to stroke his hot cheek in sympathy. 

“Oh Yuuri. Is the dazzling vision of me making your fever worse?” Victor lay down beside him, pressing his lace-clad body close against his. Yuuri’s hitched weak laughter erupted into another sneeze.

“W-well, it is very…um…” Yuuri mumbled, his face flushing even deeper.

“Perhaps I should take it off then?” Victor pondered absently, flicking open a pearly white button at the collar, revealing the flash of his pale chest. 

Yuuri's heart skipped, then started beating double time.

Yuuri buried his face into his pillow with a weak groan. His heart was beating too fast again. He felt dizzy and miserable. He just wanted to rest and let the medicine work. Weakly, he rolled over, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“Vityaaa….” He mewled pathetically, voice full of congestion. “Stop, please.”

“Hm?” Victor paused, brushing his fingers through Yuuri’s damp hair. “What is it, lapochka?”

“Y-you look very um….very something b-but…I just…just don’t feel very well.” Yuuri was close to tears. To his surprise, Victor leaned over to peck him gently on his chapped lips. 

Yuuri froze. 

“Forgive me, my love.” Victor raised himself up and smoothed out his skirt. “I’ll put it on again when you’re feeling better. I could have resisted really, I just didn’t want to.” He grinned.

Yuuri huffed out a tired laugh, only mildly exasperated with his boyfriend.

Victor pressed a hand against his chest, gesturing to the ruffled details of the pink striped pinafore. “This color really does suit me, don’t you think?” 

Yuuri nodded sleepily.

“Pink goes well against your skin, Victor.” Yuuri observed, eyes fluttering closed in his exhaustion.

“Matches your cheeks.” Victor winked. "I'll get you an ice pack. Should make you feel more comfortable."

Yuuri almost wept with relief.

“You’re off the hook for now, sweetheart.” Victor skipped towards the door, throwing a flirtatious smile over his shoulder. “But as soon as your fever goes down, it’ll be my pleasure to bring it back up.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri begins to feel less symptomatic thanks to Victor's loving care. 
> 
> Cue role reversal.
> 
> OR Yuuri has only half-realized his own eros. Victor shows him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, apparently there was more mileage on this train than originally planned.

Yuuri’s mother always reasoned that sleep was the best medicine. 

He'd slept away his fever, only waking intermittently for a bathroom trip or a long slug of ice cold water. The relentless cough pained him into wakefulness more than once, stabbing into his chest, but he would just roll over and bury himself deeper into his pillow to chase it away.  
Behind his closed eyes, colors swirled madly, confusing him. Hectic blurs of white and pink. The touch of cold hands. Strong, muscular thighs wrapped in softest lace. A racing heartbeat.

When Yuuri woke, he was covered in sweat and panting for breath.

“A dream?” He raised a shaking hand to his damp forehead, dabbing away at the moisture with his flannel-clad wrist.

Upon waking, he felt marginally better than he had before. The medicine he’d swallowed earlier had done its job. He could tell by the sounds materializing about the house that evening had begun and he had slept the better part of an afternoon. His head still felt suffused, his throat scratchy and hot. He blinked at the soft click of his bedroom door opening. 

“Yuuri…? Are you awake, lapochka?” Victor’s deep voice registered timidly from his door frame.

“Sort of.” He answered, twisting to turn on his bed lamp and fumble for his glasses. The tall man was dressed in slim fitted black trousers and a simple V-neck blue shirt. In his hands, he held a bowl of soup. 

“Are you hungry at all?” Victor asked, seating himself at Yuuri’s bedside.

Yuuri made a face. “Not especially.” He sniffed. The remnant of congestion was making his head throb again and he probably couldn’t even taste a chili if one were placed on his tongue.

“I made something simple. As you like. Chicken broth—not from the can.”

Yuuri’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh?” Victor’s expression of martyrdom looked like it had been rehearsed.

“My entire flat reeks of onion and chicken fat.” 

“Vitya, you didn’t have to—“ Yuuri began but he was waved him off.

“Your mum told me to add soft rice to it. There’s green onion, fresh cut ginger and lemon for flavor.” He sniffed, his accent stumbling over the word "lemon". Yuuri smiled whenever Victor fumbled his English pronunciation. It was nice seeing him do something imperfectly for once, even if that thing was small.

Yuuri reached for the bowl in gratitude but Victor held it in his lap and brought up a spoonful, smiling in a way not to be resisted.

“Say ahhh?” 

Yuuri rolled his eyes, grinning sheepishly. If Victor could masterfully work a room full of hungry reporters into believing the Earth was flat, winning over his fevered self presented little challenge. Patiently, he opened his mouth and let Victor feed him. His eyebrows shot up in surprise. The broth was savory and had plenty of salt. He could even taste the warm bite of the ginger and the slight acid of the lemon juice. 

“Mmm. Vitya, thank you!” He sighed. His boyfriend had the decency to grin as he spooned up another bite. 

“The sooner you feel better, the sooner this diva can go back to being your coach instead of your nurse.”

“You’re quite good at both.” Yuuri admitted, rubbing his aching temples.

“Still hurts?” Concerned, Victor brushed his damp bangs aside. “Oh lapochka, you’re soaking wet.”

“Yeah.” Yuuri admitted, embarassed. “I’ll take a shower. Mom always let me have a good sweat whenever I ran a high fever.”

“I do admit, I like seeing you sweat.” Victor purred. Yuuri nearly choked on his next swallow of soup.

“V-Vitya!” He caught his breath, chuckling uncomfortably. “But you can see me do that every day on the rink.”

“Somehow, seeing you like this is equally arousing.” Victor’s fingers ruffled through his damp hair. Yuuri could feel the heat spreading across his cheeks. “That flush is so charming, can I really be blamed?”

Yuuri’s only response was to flush harder. He nervously turned his attention back to the soup in his lap only to start when Victor’s lips pressed against his forehead.

“You’re still quite warm.” He murmured, pressing his body closer. “I could give you a sponge bath if you’re feeling weak…?”

Yuuri sharply drew back, tossing the covers off his lap in a rush.

“Th-that’s ok, Vitya! I’ll be just a minute.” He floundered, scrambling off the bed. “ Thanks for the soup!” He gave Victor a parting peck on the cheek and retreated as fast as he could into the bathroom.  
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Yuuri stood beneath the hot spray of the shower, sighing in complete relief. The steam helped loosen up the muck accumulating in his lungs and sinuses. The pressure seemed to melt away and he let himself cough productively to get rid of the intense awful sticky feeling when he breathed. He could feel his muscles start to relax and go limp. It was almost magical. Sponging away the sweat and unpleasant sourness of being sick, he began to feel like a wholly different person. 

He switched the hot water off and grabbed a towel. Stepping out of the shower, he dried off his hair and wrapped himself in his bathing yukata he’d brought from Japan.  
Softly rushing air from the ceiling fan cooled his skin as he opened the door. He took an experimental breath and inhaled the musky scent of Victor’s expensive body wash. He stepped onto the wood floor and shuffled his way back to the bedroom. 

Upon opening the door, Yuuri froze.

His bed had been made neatly. Laid out on top of the fresh duvet was the pink nurse ensemble .

Curiously, Yuuri brushed his fingers over each article of clothing. He examined the lace garter and pale cotton thigh highs first, marveling at how long they were. Victor’s legs were very white and strong, too muscular for these delicate articles. His gaze shifted to the pink-striped ruffled pinafore and stiff white under dress with its row of pearl buttons. The costume was completed by the pink cap and stethoscope. 

Yuuri’s eyes widened when he saw the pair of silk pink panties.

His first instinct was to clutch them in his hands and press their cool softness against his face. Would he be able to scent Victor on them? The very idea made his breath come faster. Were they new? Had Victor actually worn them?

He could feel his cheeks grow hot just by touching the items. Closing his eyes, he could picture them on Victor’s body, the way they perfectly hugged his frame. Victor had looked and acted so over the top yet his intentions were utterly natural. He was so in touch with his feminine side. As graceful as any dancer when he floated across the ice, here was a very different side to his lover. 

“Oh God…” He muttered. “Am I some kind of hentai?” 

“Yuuri.” 

Yuuri squeaked and jumped as he felt strong arms embrace him from behind. His heart pulsed madly in his throat. He hadn’t even realized Victor had entered the room.

“I’m sorry.” Victor’s deep voice whispered next to his ear. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Jeez, Vitya. I nearly had a heart attack!” Yuuri gasped, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. Victor held him closer, slipping a hand underneath his damp yukata just beneath his throat where Yuuri's pulse bounded.

“Feels fine to me.” Victor smirked, his hand running up and down Yuuri’s chest. Yuuri bit his lip to keep inside the utterly debauched noise threatening to escape him. Victor’s lips were on the back of his neck, making his knees go weak.

“Do you like them?” Victor murmured.

Yuuri cleared his throat.

“W-we have..um, we have this in Japan.” Yuuri replied weakly. “In certain shops. I was always too shy to go inside.”

Victor’s arms squeezed him playfully. “Ah Yuuri, you’ve been missing out on so much.” He nodded towards the bed. “Would you like to try them?”

Yuuri felt his mouth go dry.

“Umm…I’ve n-never tried girl’s clothes before.” He mumbled uncertainly. He could feel Victor’s gentle laughter rumbling in his chest pressed against his back.

“I admit it’s not for everyone.” Victor pressed another kiss to the side of his neck. “But you know my feelings on limitations.” Victor released his grip and drew Yuuri down onto the bed. Once more, he gestured to the costume.

“As a skater, technical skill and dexterity only go so far. Your audience wishes to see you from every angle and how could you ever reveal them this until you yourself have explored every canyon, crevice and niche that is you, my Yuuri?”

Yuuri could not tear his eyes away from the clothes. His body was trembling and warm but it did not feel unpleasant. 

“You are unsure. But you are also quite safe. I promise” Victor said, one hand peeling away Yuuri’s yukata until it slipped off his shoulder. Yuuri could feel the blush spreading not only to his cheeks but down his throat and chest. Victor had barely touched him and now he’d been reduced to this? 

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Victor’s lips curved in a half smile. “But I think you want to.”

Yuuri stood there dumbly, almost in a trance. He could feel his heart begin to pound again. He could not stop staring at the outfit splayed out on his bed spread. He could not stop picturing himself wearing it. Would he look weird? Would Victor laugh at him?

"What's holding you back, Yuuri?" Victor's deep voice prodded him back to reality but when he opened his mouth to answer, no sound came out.

“Put on the undergarments first.” Victor suggested. Brain jolted out of his reverie, Yuuri's body reacted instantly to the sound of Victor's voice as it instructed him. It was something his body had grown accustomed to on or off the ice, almost a mechanical mode of compliance. Victor's face was passive as he watched him.

With one hand, he pushed the other shoulder of his yukata away, baring his upper chest. Slipping out of the robe completely, Yuuri's shaking fingers picked up the delicate panties and held them a moment in his sweaty palm. Standing completely nude and vulnerable in front of Victor, he gulped and tried to steady his breathing. His heart was beating so hard, he was sure Victor could hear it. Victor’s sharp blue gaze remained on him, picking him apart silently, the way he appraised him on the ice. With shaking hands, Yuuri stepped into the panties and slid them up his thighs. The material felt shockingly thin, barely holding in his hardness. Somehow it left him feeling even more scandalous than being simply naked.

“Good.” Was all Victor said. “Next.”

Next came the stockings and garter. The material was thin and stretchy. Yuuri was surprised at the way they made his legs actually feel softer, more feminine. They ended snugly at his upper thigh and the stark contrast of the soft white cotton against his tanned skin made him pause.

“H-how do I look?” He asked, standing there foolish, shy and half-dressed.

“Like the real thing.” Victor answered. “Continue.”

Piece by piece, Yuuri donned the forbidden outfit, Victor commenting lightly here and there on the fit. The dress hugged his body in an unnatural way, clinging to his every dip and the barest suggestion of curve. The ruffled pinafore looked silly to him but he slipped his arms through it and tied it in the back, cinching it snugly about his waist. The tightness of the clothing made him feel incredibly conscious of his body. Once upon a time he’d been ashamed of it, his belly too big and soft and his arms like limp noodles. Now he felt lean and strong, the fabric against his skin reminding him of his own attractiveness.

How Victor had turned all of that around. 

Victor stood to help him pin the cap to his mussed up hair and finally, he slipped the stethoscope around his throat like a necklace.

“Take a look.” Victor gestured quietly to the full body mirror.

Yuuri gulped, stepping awkwardly in front of the tall standing mirror. He stopped breathing.

Hardly a trace of the average, humdrum Japanese boy he recognized as himself remained. Yuuri had always felt his looks to be rather unimpressive, especially next to Victor’s impossibly slim elegance. He’d always been content with his own appearance, however, never wishing to draw unnecessary attention to himself in public. One would hardly notice him in a crowd. 

But the flushed, nervous young woman staring back at him seemed to be a completely new person. Yuuri felt his chest heave underneath the pinafore, achingly hard and straining against the silk panties. They constricted him, erasing every trace of the boy he was. His legs were slimmed down by the fit of the stockings, the streamlined hardness of his own chest felt odd encased by the ruffled pinafore. His fingers touched his Adam's apple lightly as though reassuring himself it was still there.

Yuuri bit his dry lips to moisten them. 

“Mmm. You look charming, my dear.” Victor ran a finger down his chest, flicking at the ruffled accents, making him squirm uncomfortably. He pushed Victor’s hands away, palming himself desperately beneath the short skirt. He could hardly breathe correctly.

“V-Vitya, I-I feel so…so--” He laughed nervously, his voice too high. 

Victor took back his seat at the vanity table, roughly tugging Yuuri down into his lap with a sharp gasp, straddling him. Yuuri could barely move as Victor pushed his nose into the side of his neck, his grip tightening around his waist.

“I think I’ve got a temperature.” Victor murmured into his chest. 

The tight collar of the dress suddenly became too tight. Yuuri gritted his teeth to keep from wetting the panties right then and there. From the heat of his skin and the hardness pushing up against his crotch, he could tell Victor was in similar straits.

“Umm…” Yuuri shifted nervously. “…honestly Vicchan, I’m no good at this.” He whimpered.

“You’re so pretty…” Victor sighed. His snow white cheeks were now stained pink. “…won’t you play?” 

Yuuri answered him with a rough kiss, surging forward on his lap.

“Mmpph!” Victor stuttered, taken aback by Yuuri’s sudden boldness. Yuuri’s tongue was hot, exploring his mouth hungrily. Victor’s hands wandered beneath the short skirt riding up his upper thighs, cupping his ass firmly.

When he finally pulled back, both of them were breathless and flushed.

“Dirty.” Victor observed, panting. Yuuri shrugged and grinned, gaze flickering to the bed. 

“Clothes off. No talking.” Yuuri quipped, sliding off Victor’s lap. Awkwardly he smoothed down his wrinkled skirt and apron, straightening the pink cap on his head. Victor did exactly as he was told, pulling his T-shirt over his head and pulling down his shorts. Now completely unclothed, he sat patiently on the bed, the muscles in his arms shaking slightly in anticipation.

Yuuri had always been fascinated to the point of adoration by the appearance of Victor’s nude body but now in this strange new guise, he felt an odd shift. Victor’s beauty usually overpowered him but right now at this moment, he was the one in charge. It was as if the clothes gave him permission to switch roles and he loved every second of it.

Eros was such a nebulous thing.

Victor made a low, keening sound in his throat when Yuuri approached him, falling to his knees before him on the bed at eye level with his crotch. Gently, he parted Victor’s pale thighs to nuzzle his already hard sex. Victor’s chest began to heave rapidly as Yuuri dragged his tongue along the underside of his cock, licking delicately at the tip. Victor jerked, hands gripping the sheets in a death grip, his long pale throat arched and exposed, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut as though in pain. 

Yuuri wanted to fuck the sight of him right then and there. But first, he had a duty.

“Y-Yuuri…please…” Victor panted, fists clenching and unclenching into the pillows.

“Shhh.” Yuuri reminded, rising to clamber onto the bed with him. The stethoscope dangled in the space between them, knocking lightly against his belly as if to remind him it was still there. Feeling less like his usual inhibited self and more like the playful girl he had now become, he let his instinct take control. He guided Victor back against the pillows, encouraged by Victor’s willingness to obey. Victor’s pupils were blown wide, his hair perfect hair disheveled. He looked like a desperate mess and it was all because of him.

“I’ll take care of you, Vitya.” Yuuri promised, inserting the stethoscope into his ears and drawing in close. “Deep breath, now.”

Victor’s drew in a slow, controlled breath, his gaze never leaving Yuuri’s. Yuuri’s brows knit together in fascination at the sound of his boyfriend’s heart whooshing desperately in his ears. _Lub-dub. Lub-dub. Lub-dub._

“It’s so fast.” Yuuri whispered. Was it healthy to be going that fast? Yuuri had not the slightest idea, his own arousal too distracting. Victor only nodded, breathing in again for him. He lowered his pale lashes demurely, catching his lower lip between his teeth. Yuuri shivered, instantly turned on by this new level of intimacy. The sound of Victor’s breath moving in his lungs reminded him of being underwater, deep and rhythmic against the manic thudding of his heart. Yuuri felt himself waver, his hand pressed to Victor’s chest.

“Sh-should I--?”

Victor’s movements were amplified in his ears as he sat up and leaned in, pressing his lips to Yuuri’s mouth. The kiss deepened and that’s when Yuuri heard Victor’s heartbeat pause and kick hard.

He jerked back, ripping away the stethoscope in alarm.

“Are you alright, Vitya?” He gasped. 

Victor nodded, huffing a quiet laugh. “Better than alright.”

"Your heart skipped! I heard it!" He said breathlessly.

"You stole my oxygen. It'll do that." Victor reasoned.

Yuuri sighed in relief. The damned panties were already soaked with precum and they were growing more and more uncomfortable by the minute. He adjusted himself beneath the skirt, wishing he could take them off.

“How do you feel now, Yuuri?”

“These clothes are so hot. “ He said, suddenly realizing he’d begun to sweat again. “This lace itches.”

Victor grinned, running a hand up and down Yuuri’s trembling thigh. “You hardly even noticed when you put it on.”

“I had other things on my mind!” Yuuri huffed. 

“Like your patient?” Victor teased, fingering the hem of Yuuri’s skirt, eyes shining. “Will I see tomorrow?”

“You need medicine.” Yuuri said, wanting to cover his own mouth at his own suggestive tone. 

“Oh? Will it hurt?” Victor raised an eyebrow. Yuuri leaned back on his elbows, stretching his stomach and arching his back. The skirt rode up to his waist, exposing the now wet panties. 

“Just a pinch.” He promised.


	3. Chapter 3

“Better than expected.” Victor mused to himself as he fell back onto his pillow, plastered with sweat and semen. The exhausted, bedraggled nurse in his arms breathed heavily against him. 

He was grateful he’d prepared himself--his darling’s unexpected surge of debauchery had been brutal, even already pre-stretched and coated with lubricant. Yuuri showed no restraint once he’d given himself permission. Timid as he was about sex, something beautiful had been ignited inside him, something Victor now congratulated himself for. His hole still throbbed, vaguely sore, his blood still rushing with endorphin.   
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his Japanese flower so hungry; so demanding.

The crumpled nurse cap dangled askew in his mussed hair. Yuuri’s throat arched and gleaming, translucent pink cotton stretched tight across his heaving chest, nipples hard and aching. Yuuri had fucked him with sheer abandon, eyes squeezed shut as though possessed of another body altogether. Not that Victor bemoaned such detachment. He was, as ever, known to take advantage.  
As he lay beneath him, legs wrapped around his waist, Victor couldn’t help but push his hands up into the tight dress to feel Yuuri’s muscles flex and tense. The bodice was so fitted, it barely let him breathe let alone accommodate the hectic gasps, tiny pearl buttons undone to his stomach seams stretched by the violent rocking motion, the hem of the skirt had ridden completely up to his waist, fully exposing his ass. 

His Yuuri. Who bundled up his muffler twice about his throat before leaving the flat. His Yuuri--who not only closed but locked the door of the changing room in a men’s locker room. His Yuuri--who conservatively checked the tuck of his shirt and buttoned each button to the top for fear of offending the world with the unconcealed hollow of his throat.  
His Yuuri now straddling him with damp clothes barely holding him in, pumping in and out as though he truly believed in the slutty whore the dress had made him.

That image alone made Victor cum twice.

They’d switched; a rarity for them as sexual partners. Though Yuuri normally gravitated to the receiving end of Victor’s lust, he’d barely needed more than a quick swipe of lube to prep. It took no time at all for Victor to wrench aside the silk panties, grip his nurse firmly by the waist and bounce her up and down on his rock hard sex as she straddled his lap. Bless Yuuri; he still covered his mouth to muffle his screams when he came. 

“Mmmmn…” Yuuri stirred beside him, dark lashes fluttering on his cheek. Victor held him very close, tightening his bicep around his back. The room smelled beautiful--thick of sex, sweat and Yuuri’s cologne. He relished in the feel of Yuuri’s bare skin pressed against his, testing his temperature.

“Still hot?” He murmured.

Victor buried his nose into the side of Yuuri’s neck, tongue darting out to taste the salt there. Though he had a while ago regained a comfortable breathing patina, Yuuri was still burning up and pumping hormones. His cheeks stayed flushed, dark brown eyes glassy.

“Owwww.” Yuuri’s muffled voice was hoarse. “My head is pounding.”

Victor pressed a hand flat against Yuuri’s chest. “As is your heart.” He noted. “Do you feel alright?”

Yuuri’s eyes fluttered closed, as though he hadn’t heard. “Kakigori tabetai.” He moaned.

“Pardon?” Victor blinked. Unfamiliar terms were common between them, particularly when Yuuri was ill. “What do you need, lapochka?” 

“Shave ice.” Yuuri dreamed, distantly. “I want…shave ice.”

Victor chewed his lip regretfully. 

“I don’t believe we have any.” He murmured, running his hand comfortingly up and down Yuuri’s back. Yuuri moaned, shying away from the heat of close contact.

“Atsusugi.” Yuuri moaned in Japanese, tugging uncomfortably at the dress clinging to his skin. He rolled over onto his other side.  
Victor had to stop himself from getting hard all over again. 

He shifted until he was sitting up, propping his limp boyfriend solidly against the headboard. He’d forgotten how ill Yuuri had been some hours ago. Now he placed a careful hand to his forehead, feeling the fever burn though it was difficult to tell physically where the fever began and the arousal ended.

“Let’s get you out of this.” Victor raised Yuuri’s arms up above his head. A few forceful tugs and the dress slipped off, the equally rumpled thigh high stockings removed and the abused silk panties discarded. Victor paused a moment to appreciate Yuuri’s nakedness. The rosy pink of his nipples, semi-hard cock still throbbing in time with his heart. Clearly, he required treatment.

Victor bent his head and closed his mouth over Yuuri’s left nipple. Yuuri instantly spasmed with a loud gasp, legs drawing up instinctively in defense. Victor parted them again to straddle his thighs.

“Ah, ah, not yet.”

Yuuri let out a beautiful, desperate choke, both hands plunged into Victor’s hair. Victor knew without looking that Yuuri was biting down hard into his bottom lip. He did this whenever his sensitive nipples received attention.

Victor was expert at when and when not to ignore needs. The tip of his tongue shot out to tease the small nub of hot, hard flesh, flicking it playfully just to feel Yuuri writhe beneath him and hear him gasp. Fingers tightened and twisted in his hair. He detached himself to press his mouth against the other nipple, sucking and circling while Yuuri clung to his head, panting so hard he might come again.

“P-please…” Yuuri whined from his abused throat and Victor paused. Yuuri’s jaw hung lax and open, shallow rapid breaths of air escaping him. 

“Any pain?” 

By way of answer, Yuuri weakly took one of Victor’s hands and raised it to his lips, pressing a small kiss against his knuckles before letting it rest flat against his chest. Victor could feel the worrisome thumping of his heart that refused to slow. Not that he’d been helping much. Yuuri’s brows knit together in discomfort, forehead dotted with new sweat. He was so feverish. 

“Alright, sweetheart.” He whispered, patting his chest in sympathy. “You're too worked up. You need your rest.”

Yuuri melted bonelessly down the headboard and collapsed, limbs pliant and loose. Victor covered him with the forgotten bedsheet.

“Let’s get you sorted, hm?”

Yuuri was not coherent enough to agree, still coming down from his arousal.

The first thing Victor did was pull on a pair of sweatpants and don a clean T shirt. 

Victor Nikiforov had not always been destined for a career on ice. Even as he dominated the arena of competitive skating barely into his teens, a concerned uncle who made few sounds except clucks of disapproval, remained adamant that the boy be trained in a “respectable” trade. Limbs break, careers end, popularity wanes and what would become of the young prodigy Nikiforov then? 

This uncle who made few sounds pushed many dollars. That was how eighteen year old Victor Nikiforov, between international promotions, product deals and publicity visitations spent sleepless nights pursuing a degree in nursing.  
From the time of his infancy, Victor had been asked to achieve the impossible. Acquiring an applicable trade had been merely expectation, not a feat at all.

He’d completed the degree in just three years though to this day even he was unsure how he’d managed it. Certainly he would never pursue it further. Life on the ice was demanding enough. Accepting the certification under alias, his wealthy uncle finally began making different noises. It was a large price to pay but he had never quite lost the skill. Or the tools.  
Reaching up, he plucked down the medical kit from his school days and clicked open the expensive leather bound case. Nothing misplaced, the instruments still lay in their velvet casing. He had laid them aside throughout his career as a token of a potential future never fully realized. 

Yuuri was still restless when he returned with the leather case, sheets wound in a complicated knot about his torso, fabric pushed off and away from his skin as though he’d fought his way out of it and lost. Victor folded the damp bedclothes down neatly, tugging the tangle of sheets away from his legs and covering Yuuri’s abdomen with a fresh towel for modesty. 

He’d done this for practice, of course, many years ago. Rolled up his sleeves and carefully bathed down weakened limbs, applied lather and rinsed, massaged sore, fatigued muscles, encouraged blood circulation. Most of his subjects had been elderly, too weak to manage themselves. Yuuri was still able-bodied but the idea of waking him up now just to wrestle him into a shower seemed more trouble than it was worth.

Skimming a damp washcloth up and down the front and back of Yuuri’s thighs, he swiped away all trace of sweat, semen and lube from between his legs. He paid equal attention to Yuuri’s backside. He did not stop until every part was rinsed and fresh—chest, stomach, back, armpits, even ankles. Gradually, Yuuri’s discomfort eased. His breathing evened out, the furnace under his skin calming to a dull ember. He watched carefully as Yuuri’s skin began to prickle in goose bumps, faint shivers running up and down his limbs.

“Better?” He paused.

Yuuri mumbled incoherently, turning his cheek into the pillow. 

Victor would take that as a yes. He was not done. He had earlier prepped small bags of ice, winding kitchen towels around them to protect Yuuri’s skin. He placed one under Yuuri’s neck, a larger lumpy one he laid directly over his heart, before finally resting a third beside the femoral artery where thigh met groin. Yuuri did not take quietly to this, cringing at the cold shock in such unwelcome niches but Victor quieted him, pulling the sheets up to his neck to give the illusion of warmth. 

“We must cool you down, lapochka.”

Pushing back Yuuri’s damp bangs to wake him a little, Victor retrieved his thermometer. 

“Open?”

“Breathe slowly.” Victor ordered, taking Yuuri’s wrist and setting his middle finger over his pulse. A glance between the tick of his watch and the slow rise and fall of Yuuri’ chest told him his adrenaline was only just coming down. His temperature was a concern though. He plucked the thermometer from Yuuri’s unresponsive lips and held it up to the light.

“One hundred and one. Bit more than a touch.” Victor rummaged about his kit. “I’m going to record your vitals now.”

If Yuuri was impressed or surprised by the sudden appearance of a stethoscope and a sphygmometer, he did not voice his opinion. The cuff wrapped firmly around Yuuri’s bicep. Victor slid the pink stethoscope into his ears.

“I didn’t know…you were a real nurse.” Yuuri smiled faintly.

“Full of surprises.” Victor inflated the cuff, listening intently for the telltale patter of Yuuri’s heart. Checking the number, he jotted it down. A quick press against his chest revealed clear breath sounds. He tugged off the stethoscope. “You’re slightly dehydrated. You need more intake.”

Yuuri huffed a lukewarm laugh, touching his fingertips to his brow. “I did sweat a lot.”

Victor ripped the cuff away with a crackle and set aside his instruments. “I’m going to fetch you something to drink.” 

He rose to his feet, heading to the kitchen for a glass. The fridge revealed nothing passable; only milk and a sugary energy drink. Victor opted for water instead. Yuuri seemed grateful for it either way, gulping it down thirstily. It was only after he’d handed the glass back that he realized he was covered only by a towel and a thin sheet.

“Vitya! What happened to my clothes!”

“Lost them.” Victor hummed with a grin. “You were getting too hot, I had to cool you down quickly.”

“Oh.” Yuuri grimaced at the ice pack on his chest. “Um, it’s kinda cold.”

Victor pressed a palm against his forehead to check.

“Keep them on for now, I’ll check your temperature again in a few minutes.”

Yuuri’s sulk was only momentary. He closed his eyes. “You’re a nurse.” He said again. 

“Only by a degree. I never did residency but I was required to make night rounds and assist the doctors in the big city hospital during off season at the rink.”

“Was it difficult?”

“Yes. Very. My main job, it seemed, was to empty chamber pots and scrub down patients who had sicked up on themselves. It was far from pleasant and very hectic! No sooner had I finished cleaning one patient when another would explode and need help. It was never-ending, Yuratchka! Blood and piss and sweat and shit and vomit and mucous all the time! And then there was the paperwork…”

“Mmm…” Yuuri hummed. “But you did it. You helped them.”

Victor shrugged. “On the ice, the only person you can worry about is yourself. My uncle did not want me to turn narcissist.”

“I’m glad he did.” Yuuri said. “You took good care of me.”

“But I love you, my Yura.” Victor lifted his hand, pressing his lips against his knuckles. “Every part of you. And I will care for each and every one.”


End file.
